When tempests rage, my vessel's tossed on seas
that crash across the bows and threaten to
reduce my transport into driftwood skis—
and Neptune taunts me, "Bid this life adieu."
As rudderless, I head toward the cliffs,
surrounded by sharp rocks on ev'ry side;
my heart's staccato beats play tuneless riffs—
from nature's wrath there is nowhere to hide.
When suddenly, hewn in the rocky wall,
appears a zawn, a large and sheltered cave.
I swim against the forces of the squall,
into the peaceful refuge that I crave.
Arriving safe from harm I slip inside
the comfort and the warmth your arms provide.
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Author Notes
Today's word:
zawn: (n.) a fissure or cave in a coastal cliff.
My much-treasured Christmas present for 2017 is a book by Paul Anthony Jones: "The cabinet of linguistic curiosities". Each page contains a descriptive story about some obscure or archaic word. It occurred to me it would be a fun exercise to try and write, each day, a poem featuring the "word of the day" from the book.
Thanks for reading.
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